


Impulse

by CheshireCaine



Series: Newton's laws of motion [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Coping, House Cleaning, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireCaine/pseuds/CheshireCaine
Summary: It seemed Jason had two things in common with his mum: a taste for dark-haired men that would leave him heartbroken and cleaning as a coping mechanism.





	Impulse

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I've having a really bad headache right now, so I will tag and edit and stuff later.~~ Took me a day.  
>   
> . . . Yeah, I know. There are some seriously crammed sentences in this—I'll take it as a compliment that I'm writing like an amateur Ibsen, with all of his subtleties (kinda).  
>   
>  I felt like I was more deep than I'd planned when I added the "dark-haired" part and realised it could apply to Bruce too. Even Nightwing if you get really picky about Jason's time as Robin.
> 
> Also, there's something vaguely irritating about the story titles also being names of DC characters relevant to Teen Titan stories.

Tim moved his stuff back to his old apartment while Jason was out. He’d probably gotten Kon, Bart and Jaime to help out. Hell, maybe he’d enlisted Steph and Dick too.

Jason didn’t feel anything—but that was probably because he'd spent the night at a bar and drank till he collapsed, leaving it to Roy to drag him to his shared apartment with Kori. It really belonged to all three of the Outlaws, and was paid for by Jason, who spent the most time in Gotham. But he’d moved out to give the couple a bit of room (after getting tired of waking from nightmares to the sound of their headboard smacking against the wall).

Roy kept him distracted for a couple of weeks with the excuse of team-bonding over movies and pop culture, having the added benefit of getting Kori to actually agree to watch films with him without bowing out halfway through. Roy was a good friend. And Kori, considering that turning Jason into a shut-in over the short course of a couple of weeks probably wouldn’t be beneficial in the long term, dragged him out for shopping sprees and the odd tyrant takedown and dictator pants-wetting. Kori was a good friend.

Jason’s hangover that first day made him feel dull, but at least distracted him from the emptiness he felt as deep as in his soul (looks like Ducra was right, he was exaggerating when he said it was taken with his death and a scar etched in with the Lazarus and even further with the killing).

After those two weeks had passed, with Roy and Kori’s blessing, he headed back to his apartment (not his home, never his home again). But not before spending his final night blackout drunk again. This time he didn’t feel like a dulled sword edge but a throbbing wound to the carotid, except the pain didn’t end in minutes; it was like bleeding out, then being tossed in the Lazarus, then having the blade slice through your neck again.

He didn’t bother with dithering by grabbing any painkillers, he grabbed any possessions he’d left in plain-sight (as much as he needed to go, he knew he was welcome back anytime), dunked his head under the kitchen tap and sipped at a few licks of water, before pulling his unlaced boots onto his bare feet. He slowed to close the door behind him, a gentle click of the latch sounding once, and then again as he locked it. His mind was blank as he took the service elevator to the hidden basement, where he pulled a tarp off one of his more subtle motorbikes, shoved his spare clothes into the space under the seat and headed ho– to his apartment.

He kept his mind carefully blank, maintaining his calm with the sound of Ducra’s lessons in his air. She’d always told him he was too angry, too emotional to ever make it as an assassin. He knew she was right, but at least her lectures came in handy. It was second nature to slip into the silent mind-set of one of her disciples. He chose to ignore the fact that for all her ranting and bemoaning over his temperament, she found it unnerving when he stayed like that for too long.

The early hour meant that he travelled quicker and he just weaved around any vehicles he actually did encounter. Jason was only several blocks from his street, but even in his absent headspace, he instinctively knew to aim for a block away from ho– _his_ , and dropped off his motorbike in another of his underground garages. A sectioned-off area of sewer took him to his building (which he owned under an alias, but left in the charge of a vetted tenant). He took the stairs up this time, trying to prolong the journey.

He could only delay himself so much before he arrived at his door, reaching into his leather jacket for his set of keys. He walked in and switched on the light, absently dumping his things on the sofa.

The first thing he spotted after his eyes had adjusted was the apartment’s duplicate set of keys. He casually fingered the keys as he poured himself some water and pulled open a drawer for the paracetamol, ignoring that a larger dent would be made in the pain if he used the tougher stuff kept in the medicine cabinet—he wasn’t gonna go to the bathroom yet. He dry-swallowed two tablets, then chased them down with hearty gulps of water.

Still putting off further exploration, he pulled the key for the front door off the keyring and stuffed them into another drawer. Jason sauntered back out the open door and headed to the end of the corridor, lifting up a corner of the carpet to stuff it underneath. He carefully tucked the fabric back into place, leaving no trace. He got back to his feet and into his living room, closing the door with the same care as he’d used earlier. He locked, bolted and latched the front door.

Jason felt the same emptiness that had chased him for the past two weeks creeping back, a hollow pit forming in his stomach.

Where he would have toed off his boots before, he made a task out of gently tugging them off and placing them beside the door. He grabbed some of the clothes from the sofa and sorted them into piles of To be Washed; To be Worn; and To be Abandoned on the sofa until further notice.

After putting Pile One into the washing machine, he flicked on the light in the hallway and grabbed cleaning supplies from the closet. He attacked the layer of dust that had settled in during his absence, duster in every corner and a wet cloth over every surface.

Jason was done quicker than he expected. So, he grabbed the hoover. Took longer, but he was done. The broom because he was running out of ideas and the kitchen suddenly needed sweeping. He changed the blanket cover and bedsheets. He used the mint-condition carpet washer (with bow still attached . . . until he tossed it into the bin), and laid the used sheets over the carpet as it dried.

He scrubbed the bathroom tiles and distractedly grabbed the toothbrush labelled something other than ‘Jason’, moving to throw it away, but realising its potential. He rinsed it off, then collected every pair of shoes in the apartment. He dumped them on top of the sheets besides the sofa. The pile was still collapsing as he rushed to fill a basin with water. He grabbed a shoe, dunked the sole in water and started scrubbing with the toothbrush, bits of gum and mud plopping into the water and dirtying it.

Jason emptied and refilled the basin multiple times before he was done, setting the shoes to the side against the wall. He went back to the bathroom, grabbed another labelled set of toothbrushes that weren’t his, and ripped the bag open with his teeth. He clamped his foot on the pedal and spat out a bit of plastic into the bin. Now, he want back for the basin, making sure to grab baking soda from the kitchen and some Boraxo from under the bathroom sink.

_‘One part baking soda, one part Boraxo, two parts water and voila! You have yourself some homemade stain remover.’_

_Jason was impressed._

_‘See, son. We don’t need to leave the house to get something to clean the tiles—all you need is_ ingenuity _.’_

_Jason scrunched up his face; confused. ‘What’s in-juh– injunty?’_

_‘Ingenuity, sweetheart. Don’t worry, you already have plenty. How else did you manage to persuade Mrs. Chatterjee into giving up some of her special chocolate chip cookies for you?’_

_Jason didn’t mind cleaning really. It meant he was with his mum. And it wasn’t till the storm was long passed and their work finished that he remembered being afraid of the lightning (not as bad as Dad’s shouting though)._

_‘Now then, looks like we can finish the rest of the cookies,’ his mother announced, dropping her gloves to the floor and ruffling Jason’s hair. He’d gotten his dad’s deep black (though more a patchy grey as far as Jason remembered), but his hair was as bouncy as his mother’s light curls._

Jason could still feel his mother’s fingers running through his hair. He moved on to cleaning the kitchen appliances; scrubbing the microwave, toaster and coffee machine (not that he was ever really a fan of coffee) with another toothbrush. Another he was actually coating in toothpaste, before running it over the countertops and floor to remove any more stains. He reserved the final one for de-hairing the hairbrushes Cass always left behind during visits, casually plucking at them, after transferring clothes from the washer to the dryer with the laundry basket ripped from its place on the floor of the hall closet. Another load went into the washing machine and churned away, as he grabbed the toilet brush and (actual) cleaner and got to scrubbing.

He was done too quickly again; his enthusiasm not helping so much. He ripped black bin bags off a roll and started puffing them up, before abandoning all but one on the floor. He made his way through every room, clearing up the surprising amount of mess for a flat missing a lot of stuff (though he doubted the Titans knew how to do anything without making a mess).

Jason filed away any non-urgent information, like the clutter hidden behind and underneath the guest room furniture; and the half-empty state of the wardrobe. He heaved the dry clothes to the sofa, then moved the wet load into the dryer. He folded any clothes within sight and sorted them into the wardrobe, filling in the gaps.

Finally remembering to change his clothes, he grabbed a T-shirt and some pyjama trousers from his To Be Worn pile. His muscles starting in with their complaints as he started to slow down. Jason stretched his arms above his head, making his bones crack. He ducked and tossed his used clothes into the washing machine tumbler for later.

Yawning openly, he grabbed an instant pack of macaroni and cheese—he was way too tired to make anything more intricate, and after maybe napping for a bit, he’d start going through the expired food in the fridge. His head dipped a few times as the macaroni softened in the bubbling water. He spilled the packet of powder claiming to be cheese into the pan, and waited, stirring every so often. His head dipped further down and he snapped fully awake. He took his plate to the coffee table, filling the pan with water but leaving it unwashed. He slowly spooned the below-par mac and cheese into his mouth, eventually abandoning it on the table.

He collapsed into bed and thought of his mother again briefly before nodding off. He slept dreamlessly. He rested more easily than he’d managed for weeks and weeks, his peace lasting into the late hours of the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Might turn this into a two-parter, or just add another story to the series. Because this really can't end here and the next story is a pretty direct sequel.
> 
> Originally, I'd planned this whole series to be three stories . . . except, no. I can't resolve things that quickly. Writing for this series is like being in fog and trying to make a comprehensive map of your surroundings by _describing_ it.
> 
> Not an easy task.
> 
> At least, making you wait for the stories will let you feel some of their agony (and mine, because I have to write this somehow).
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> Wrote this in a little more than two hours over the night of 14th August, 2016 a little of the way into the 15th.  
>   
> In fairness, I took so long because I kept looking up stuff about homemade cleaning supplies throughout this. I wrote an angst-fest story and inadvertently taught myself life hacks for cleaning everything in your house.


End file.
